Going Home
by ilikestories
Summary: Harry returns to his parents' house only to discover that a muggle has moved in. Will she believe his story? And how will her sympathy affect the outcome of the war? oneshot.


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I never will. ( I also own nothing else you may recognize. Anything you don't, it's mine.

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_To laugh often and love much; to win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children; to earn the approbation of honest critics and to endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to give of one's self; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exaltation; to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived -- this is to have succeeded._

_Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)_

Harry looked around. It was the place alright. Godric's Hollow. Where his parents had lived, and where they died. He had always wanted to visit, and had declined Ron and Hermione's offers to come with him. This was something to be done alone. Not surprisingly, a muggle family had moved in after the house had been rebuilt. It was sort of awkward, just standing outside some random person's house, so he summoned up his courage. What was the worst that could happen? They didn't want him sitting in their yard and called the cops? He stepped toward the door and knocked.

A middle-aged woman stepped out. "Can I help you?" She asked.

"Yes, actually" he said "I… er… well, it's sort of a long story. Are you busy?"

"Are you selling something?"

"Hell, no, it's just, well, this is the place where my parents died"

"Oh… I see… In that fire?"

"Well, sort of. It's a bit longer than that, but yeah, I suppose there was a fire"

"I'm afraid I'm not following you here. If the fire didn't kill them, then what did?" Harry, by this time had dug himself into a deeper hole then he could ever get out of. If he told her his parents had been murdered, he'd be violating the statute of secrecy. If he tried to get out of it now, they'd be suspicious. He had only one option left: change the subject.

"I don't really like talking about it. Is this the way the house was built originally?"

"Oh, you poor dear. I didn't mean to hit a nerve. Yes, it is the original plan, it made it easier for the builders since they already had a foundation. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. This is going to sound sort of pushy and awkward, but can I come in? It's dangerous to be standing out on people's doorsteps." The comment about danger seemed to have baffled the woman, but she agreed. She obviously felt sorry for him. "Thanks," he said.

"About this danger… what is that?"

"Uh, well, there's only so much I can tell you, but let's just say that the guy who got my parents came back for me."

"Is this the guy who has been killing all those innocent people?"

"Well, he's behind it, yeah. He hasn't been doing it himself, though. He's been spending his time looking for me"

"So he has followers?" Harry nodded and she continued. "How have they been killing people without weapons, or poison, or anything?"

"I know exactly what they're doing, but I can't tell you. It doesn't help anyone defend themselves, and it definitely doesn't help us catch him."

"You say 'us', who are you, anyway? You seem to be very comfortable with talk of people dying, people _you are supposedly related to_, much more so than your average eighteen-year-old"

"Seventeen"

"What?"

"I'm only seventeen"

"Either way, too comfortable with it for my liking. Are you in MI6 or something?"

"Naw, they're useless. I'm in the order"

"Order?"

"Yeah, you wouldn't have heard of it. Anyway, is that enough information for you?"

"No… should it be?"

"It's all I can legally tell you. Aw, screw it. You, well, I don't really know you, but it seems like I need to tell. Besides, you own my parents' old place. What could they do to me for telling a muggle? Surely not throw me into Azkaban, they wouldn't do that to me, it would be as good as murder. Well, if they did at least the dementors aren't there any more. I could deal with it. Alright I'll tell you." Through Harry's mutterings, the woman had been very patient. Now, however, she felt it was her turn.

"And I suppose you'll explain what all those made-up words mean?"

"Of course. Now, take this." He held out a vial, but she refused to take it. "Drink. I swear, it's just a calming draught." She still refused to take it. "Here." He said. "Look, I'd drink some, but there's only one dose in there. I could get more, but I'd have to disapparate without you having taken the potion and it would be pointless. Just take it." She still refused. "Fine" said Harry. It was a muggle, and therefore, "_Imperio"_ He muttered. _"Take the potion. Take the potion. Take the potion." _It worked. She took the potion and Harry explained what he had just done to her. She looked horrified. "That's why you never mess with a wizard"

"I can see that. Now, please, tell me all this top-secret stuff that you wanted to say."

"I will" For several hours, they talked. The calming draught slowly wore off as the realization as to who the woman was talking to sunk in. After relating his life story, and telling her all the dangers of knowing him, he asked her a question. "Will you take the red pill or the blue pill?"

"Huh?"

"A muggle movie, I believe. American, I think. Would you rather be safe and forget everything I told you, or are you prepared to endure all the nervousness that you will be subject to because you know what you know?"

"I'll remember"

"Then, when you see either a report of a black-haired kid gone missing or a stop to all the funny deaths, think of me." Harry disappeared with a pop.

A few days later, the boy popped back into the woman's house. He was covered in blood and shaking, but beaming at the same time

"What happened?" She asked. Harry smiled.

"In coming here, I came completely to terms with everyone's deaths. I killed him, and I hated it, but he's gone. Thank you, thank you for listening."

The woman had found a soft spot for this child, the age of her own son "Would you like to come 'round for tea tomorrow?"

"I would love to"

"Then it's settled."

And it was.

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A/N: To any of you who are reading my story, my muse has momentarily abandoned me. I'll try for another chapter by Valentine's day. I feel guilty, I really do, especially as we just had several snow days, but as I said, my muse is gone. Probably ran off with some boy… 


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